


Territory

by kikaikitai



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Old Fic Repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:05:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikaikitai/pseuds/kikaikitai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The glow from those striking red optics was far from shy. Why beat around the bush now? They both knew what this was about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Territory

**Author's Note:**

> I'MSORRYIHADTOTRYWRITINGTHEMGOFOLLOW [highglossfinish](http://highglossfinish.tumblr.com/) and [a-good-distraction](http://a-good-distraction.tumblr.com/) on tumblr BYE/jlkdsk
> 
> Old fic repost.

Cubes clinked together. Kliks passed with the sort of easy, pointless conversation that usually came with an encounter like this. No rush. Just refueling and talking about nothing.

The deep blue lights of the room were as soft as Knock Out's voice. Calm, sophisticated, and making the Wrecker's spark coil in arousal.

Wheeljack hummed as he took a final sip, letting his host out of his sight for a mere moment. That's when he felt two things: an energy field crossing his and a slim servo on his leg.

The glow from those striking red optics was far from shy. Why beat around the bush now? They both knew what this was about.

Still, it was a little bit funny.

Knock Out was waiting though. He'd worry about what this all meant later.

Once rid of the cube, a larger hand pressed against silver ventral plating. Fingers curled around waist and he could feel the heat from the Decepticon's vents.

"Not gonna short out on me, are ya?" A stupid smirk.

Knock Out's optics flashed. "Shame if I didn't, I think," the medic drawled.

He leaned forward, digging talons into Wheeljack's leg. "But..."

The Autobot tightened his hold on that nice little waist, spark blazing within him, wanting, waiting, burning alive from his companion's gaze. There was a lethal kind of smirk that made Wheeljack wonder how Breakdown didn't actually _break down_ every night with this mech.

"Not yet," Knock Out finished—and mouthplates met. Experimental osculations lit them up, making grips tighten and vents rattle. Knock Out's kisses were paced and ponderous, while the Wrecker somewhat clumsily tried to match him in his building excitement.

What a pleasant surprise to find that scratching against one of those silly audials made Wheeljack groan and try to bite the other's mouthplate, hand rising up to feel over a bright alt mode headlight. Knock Out hummed now against his mouth, delighting in the strained sort of ventilating coming from the Autobot. Funny if he were the one to short out instead.

Enough teasing.

Smooth as fine high grade, the medic slid onto the other mech's lap without even disconnecting their mouthplates. And when he did release to get a good look at the Wrecker, he couldn't help but tilt his helm in thought.

Hm. Where to start? He supposed they'd figure it out together.

He did have an idea, though, that would definitely call for a high quality cygarette when he was finished with the bot.

It was going to be an interesting night.


End file.
